Fuel for the Fires

consuming oxygen and wood in the
ovens all five of them burning hot
feeding these flames my job
blowing hard with the bellows
to bake bread and what meat to roast for supper
as the boys suffer hunger pains
want apples sauced and
thickened in the pot concentrated
and sweet to break fast this meal
I’ll heap on their plates
yet time passes in the making
and discomfort grows as
they pick up old arguments
shift and wrestle to the floor
with legs kicking tipping the table
tugging hair by the tangle-full howling
faces hot as embers
and the bread finally thumps done to the center
breaks open steaming melting butter
and the boys right the table
take their seats
and cool down

Leaving Martha

Im runnin out of time
there’s a whistle blowing
and Im leavin this note
before I go and dont mark me down
for spelling or grammer cause Ive
had it up to here with your corrections
these years after me both sides
up and down with the red pencil in
the margins like I didnt know
any better how
to sort my words to
our problems to better explain
and kept on with the same
crossin the street
blind-eyed just listening see
how well it worked for me
and now I feel the hum
in the tracks
as the freight rumbles low
and I step aside